god

oh god forgive us

there is no spark to light the kindle

no prometheus to gift us the burning rose

 

and the child is cold.

 

lord

oh lord forgive me

there are no trees to fell for lumber

no blue stone for noah’s ark to sail across

 

and my child is parched.

 

They clasp their hands

for warmth,

in prayer,

croaking through cracked throat

 

oh god oh lord

 

we trod blind to the serrated road beneath our bare feet

deaf to the wafting stench of decaying kin

the child’s hand thin and breathless in mine own

we exhaust tasteless fire and scorching water

 

god oh lord

we fear

i doubt

 

have you given us the pithos

of pandora, the fair blameless lady

empty and devoid

of elpis, the foolish idle spirit.